


Last Left Standing

by adrift_me



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Ending with Emily Dead, High Chaos (Dishonored), M/M, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 00:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15279162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: Where one seeks to forget, the other wants to be forgiven.A story where the Empire is no more since Emily Kaldwin's death after the coup. And two men remain, whose part in its events was most prominent. Haunted by their past, they seek salvation in each other's arms aboard a nameless ship which carries them to no destination set.





	Last Left Standing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift fic for my awesome friend cappuccinoob.
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr :)](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/ask)

Ocean waters are ever so still tonight, splendored with a pale moon’s path on the reflecting surface. And watching it are two men, huddled close together at the ship’s board. One of them has his hand bare and from the tan skin a black mark of the Outsider is standing out in the dark.

“Tomorrow will be just as still, won’t it?”

“Indeed.”

Almost a meaningless conversation to any other person but them. It comes from the familiarity and the shared grief, shared hatred. In just two replicas they know tomorrow the ship’s crew will be cleaning the vessel, will be fishing small schools of fish that comes to feed on warm quiet days. That they will break a bottle of something harsh and spicy open and drink it till the last drop. One of them might end up in tears, like the last time, begging for forgiveness. It never ends in happiness for men like them.

“Want a cigar?”

There is a nod, fumbling with a warm coat - and a cigar is procured from the inner pocket.

It’s a bitter one and it blazes with a glowing end amidst the night. Ash falls down to the ship’s deck, mixing with the slick water and fish slime. Cigars are about the only thing that brings flavour to a life full of bland meals. All the spices of Cullero, a delight for a sailor.

One of the men, his face decorated with a long scar, looks at his companion, whose eyes are fixed on the distant horizon. The horizon is empty, void of other ships or prospects of solid land.

It matters little to them, because on no land are they welcome.

Daud smokes off the cigar and hands it over to Corvo, who takes it slowly, almost pensively. He has never been much of a smoker, coughing almost pretentiously at every draw, but Daud will not be fooled. They both find pleasure in little delights. To such men as they are delights are rare and small, treasured.

Two years they have been traveling together on board the same ship. Two years ago the Empire has ceased to exist. The moment little Empress Emily slipped to her death in the arms of the imperial traitor Havelock, the Isles have taken their chances and ended any and all treaties that bound them together. And thus, the Empire has become but a vast book of history. Four isles remain, each with their government, laws and peculiarities. And no Empress or Emperor to guide.

Corvo draws on the cigar, making it burn again in the thickness of the night, and shakes the ash off. He never speaks much, works hard. Tries to forget. But forgetting is a bitter pill, a placebo for the ever present ache in his heart and mind.

Where one seeks to forget, the other wants to be forgiven. But Daud knows he will never be. But selfishly he takes pride in being the last and only person in the world that Corvo can trust. Can be with. Can share a shattered forgotten future. In time, they will be given up to the sea, dead from some illness or old age. Land won’t see their bodies and history will remember them as murderers, the last of the great Empire.

They are legends living dead.

In a sad motion Corvo tilts his head and leans on Daud’s shoulder. There is comfort to be found in the assassin’s hold, and Daud’s arm drapes cozily around Corvo’s waist, bringing them closer together.

Their bond if of the strangest nature. Love is lacking, but there is respect and mutual grief for the lives they have lost to their past. Both are marked by the deity of the beyond who lost interest to both of them two years ago. The Void still ripples and melts at their call, but it is a rare occasion that they put their marks of the Outsider to use. It is more a relic than a tool now. A reminder of the days long gone. A curse to wonder at.

Smoke goes off into the air from the end of the cigar.

It’s long past midnight, what with the audiograph in the captain’s quarters turning off. It always does at two hours past midnight, a ritual both Corvo and Daud know by heart. The moment the lights of the room up on the upper deck go off, Corvo stands upright again and turns his face.

He leans in, Daud leans in, and their lips, bruised and dry, meet for a kiss. It tastes so bitter, almost raw from the cigar. But their mouths are soft and wet and warm and neither wants anything else, but this. Corvo’s hand traces the old scar on Daud’s face, so familiar beneath his fingers. Daud hovers his fingers over Corvo’s temple where the sizzling metal of the torturer marked him forever.

They are tired broken man. Capturing each other’s lips helps to keep it together.

“It is night time,” one states to the other tiredly, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand.

“Indeed. We are best head back to the rooms and sleep.”

Another day gone by, lived in a torturous speculation. Tomorrow is another day for it, and for the kiss and for the bottle of Serkonan liquor. And for the bitterness of the long lasting memories of the Empire that has never come to be.


End file.
